<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>We Make It Work by PerfectProphet</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29030211">We Make It Work</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerfectProphet/pseuds/PerfectProphet'>PerfectProphet</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Artificial Intelligence, Cybernetics, Cyberpunk, F/F, NOT Cyberpunk 2077, Self-Harm, time jumps</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:07:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>999</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29030211</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerfectProphet/pseuds/PerfectProphet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>My fear increases tenfold as I try to figure out what is going on. What am I doing here? What is happening? Why can’t I answer any of these questions? Fear is replaced by anger as my list of questions grows. How am I feeling, she asks, I am feeling like she should tell me what the fuck is going on.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>We Make It Work</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I have never posted anything before but this idea has been in my head for 8 years and I don't know what to do with it. I hope it's not awful.</p>
<p>I see this a lot on other works so I will add just in case, please don't steal or repost without permission.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I feel like shit, like I shouldn’t even be alive. Why is it so cold? I feel like I’ll never know what it’s like to be warm again. My body isn’t listening to me, I can’t open my eyes, it feels like they’ve been glued shut. I attempt to rub away the sleep but my left arm won’t budge. I try to force my eyes open on their own but only my right eye opens. I look over to my arm, troubled by the fact that I can’t feel it. A left arm is there alright, but it isn’t mine, something metal has taken its place. Have I always had this? I try searching my memory but can’t come up with an answer.</p>
<p>I start to look around to get my bearings, everything is so white, except the metal table I’m laying on. There is a computer against the wall on my left. Behind it sits a woman with dark brown hair and a lab coat, facing away from me. I look to my right and see what appear to be surgical tools on a table next to me. Fear shoots through me as I realize I must have just undergone surgery, or maybe I’m about to. I hear the heart monitor rapidly beeping, followed by footsteps rounding the silver table I’m laid upon. I try to calm my racing heart but it’s too late. What the fuck is happening?</p>
<p>The brown haired woman is at my side in seconds. Her deep blue eyes pierce through my soul as she looks down at me. My eye, since I haven’t been able to open my left eye, must be as big as a saucer because very softly she says, “Just try to relax, everything is OK. How are you feeling?”</p>
<p>My fear increases tenfold as I try to figure out what is going on. What am I doing here? What is happening? Why can’t I answer any of these questions? Fear is replaced by anger as my list of questions grows. How am I feeling, she asks, I am feeling like she should tell me what the fuck is going on.</p>
<p>I reach out with my right hand, as she waits for my answer, it feels like lead underneath the sedative that is still wearing off. She looks surprised I can move and goes to take a step back, but she’s too slow and I’m able to grab her throat. Her eyes go wide as she reaches for my hand with both of hers trying to pry my hand away. It doesn’t work, I tighten my grip and sit up, left arm hanging at my side uselessly and legs planted on the floor. I push myself up to a standing position and through gritted teeth I get out, “Where. Am. I?”</p>
<p>She doesn’t speak, too terrified, lungs working too hard to breath. I begin taking steps forward until we reach the wall and I slam her against it. She lets out a sound between a cry and scream, and I inch my face closer to hers and speak into her ear, “Where is my fucking arm?”</p>
<p>“Please…” she gets out before I tighten my grip more and lift her against the wall.</p>
<p>I pull my head back, looking her in the eyes and yell, “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?” She winces away from me as she claws at my hand and gasps for breath.</p>
<p>She looks so scared like she thinks she may die. My anger begins to dissipate when I realize she just might. I’ve been limiting her air flow for over a minute. Her pupils are dilated and I can see the veins in her forehead. </p>
<p>What am I doing?</p>
<p>I lower her to the ground and loosen my grip so she can breathe, but don’t let go. She takes in a deep breath and appears to relax a little, some of the fear leaving her body. I search her eyes for answers but all I find is concern. I’m the one who almost killed her and she is concerned for me? She lifts her left hand to my face and places it against my left cheek. It’s so warm and I’m so confused, I lean into the touch, fear taking over again.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” she cuts herself off and everything happens too fast after that. Out of the corner of my eye, to my left, I see movement. The next thing I know there is a pinch in my neck, I release the woman and jerk away from her. I reach for my neck and feel something sticking out of it, I pull out what turns out to be a syringe filled with a clear liquid.</p>
<p>“What…” I start, but the anger is back. I lurch forward, pushing her back up against the wall with my shoulder. My vision begins to swim as I puncture her skin with the needle and push the plunger. </p>
<p>She grabs at my shirt trying to push me away, but I lean into her trying to keep my feet under me. Tears begin to stream down her cheeks and she’s no longer trying to push me away. She is holding onto me like I’m the only thing keeping her alive. Her knees begin to give out and I can feel her slipping under me. I try to keep her up, keep her from falling, I wrap my arm around her waist to hold her in place. It’s no use, she’s still slipping and I’m right there with her, falling to the ground. The woman still has a tight grasp on my shirt as I fall to my back and she collapses on top of me. The sound of the metal arm hitting the floor rings through the room as my eyes begin to close.</p>
<p>I lift my head as much as I can and look into hazy blue eyes. “Bryce,” she whispers out as the darkness takes the pair of us.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>